Needing to communicate, I began writing an essay, a script for a video, and a stream-of-consciousness piece. None of it worked today. What did was a poem.

Slit from crotch to crown
Blood drains with poison
The face a strange frown
From a life unchosen

The good and bad pour
As inseparable fluids
Soak into the floor

Black and red flood
The spirit is gone
More poison than blood
We know who has won

Life unchosen
Is a choice at last
In fear, the frozen
only know what’s past

The bone shows
white as ever
Regret glows
an immortal ember

Organs fall
everything comes loose
Life without the gall
is life of self-abuse

Choices are being
You, what you’re seeing
You’re actions you take
relationships you break
all the fears you’re fleeing

Life allows
choosing of poison
Decide it now
what you’ll destroy in

For when you’re hanging
crotch-side down
They are scanning
for the spineless clown

The brave that know
their bodies will show
the red and black choices
who know what their voice is

For glory, love, and light
favor the choosers of their plight